


Read All About It

by Dalzo, reylocalligraphy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Shows, Artist Ben Solo, Bad Matchmaking, Barista Rey (Star Wars), Both authors already have too many WIPs but hey, College Student Rey (Star Wars), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Especially you Rebecca, F/M, Fluff and Angst, How many Easter Eggs can you spot?, Las Vegas, Librarians, Matchmaking, Much love to our headmistresses, Mutual Pining, Ruby giving Rebecca all the wine she's promised, The Writing Den, We’re sorry for everything, thirst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 07:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16363592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalzo/pseuds/Dalzo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylocalligraphy/pseuds/reylocalligraphy
Summary: When three librarians get fed up with two book-dwellers arguing amongst the shelves, day in and day out with a healthy dose of UST throughout the atmosphere, they each come up with a convoluted plan with one goal in mind:Pushing Rey and Ben together to return their library to its peaceful state once more.





	Read All About It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnightbluefox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightbluefox/gifts), [RebelRebel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelRebel/gifts), [LoveofEscapism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveofEscapism/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to the entire Writing Den, especially our three lovely headmistresses who put in so much time and effort to lead/organize this amazing server. Thank you all for being such a wonderfully supportive community. There are not enough words to express how grateful we are for you all. Happy 6th month anniversary to TWD!

 

 

 

 

“...I’m telling you, you’re confusing chiaroscuro and sfumato, which is quite an easy mistake to make. They’re both art techniques developed during the Italian High Renaissance, which—”

 

“I know what they are, you mansplaining prick! I’m a bloody history student. And that’s how I know I’m _right_ —”

 

“Between the two of us here, who’s the artist?”

 

Rowan glanced up from her computer; her lips narrowed into a thin line as the man and woman’s volumes continued to rise.

 

“Excuse me?” she asked firmly, her voice piercing through their argument. “If you could kindly keep down the conversation, that would be wonderful. This is a library after all.”

 

The man bestowed her a curt nod, before he stormed away with long, quick strides, dropping his large frame into a tiny chair; fishing out his laptop out of his bag with a pout present on his prominent features, it was clear he was not quite done with their little argument. The woman, Rey—Rowan had seen her around quite often, a student here at the local college—blushed at being called out. Rey threw the man a withering glare before she returned to her table, far away from his own; crouching over manuscripts and documents, finding herself immersed into the historic world once more.

 

On opposite sides, they sat—symbolic to their contrasting opinions and clashing minds.

 

“Them two going at it again?” Rowan didn’t need to turn her head to know that her fellow librarian Lindsay was approaching.

 

“Yeah,” Rowan sighed. “Every day this week, they’ve come in and disrupted the silence of our library. No exception.”

 

A thoughtful silence shrouded the two librarians as they brainstormed solutions.

 

“We could always just kick them out.”

 

Rowan shot Lindsay a scathing look. “And miss my daily session of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome? I’d rather put up with a century of bickering.”

 

“That’s fair.” Lindsay sighed, a dream-like breath that left her lips parted as her eyes found the brooding man in-question. Slowly, she deflated; with an elbow of support on the desk, her chin fell into the cusp of her hand, a soft gleam in her gaze as she watched the man silently seethe. “He’s too pretty to kick out.”

 

Rowan hummed, joining her at the desk to watch on—ignoring their set duties and responsibilities for a pair of dark, pretty eyes.

 

“He’s not married.” A thick voice, lilted with a Scottish accent, came from behind. “I already checked. No weddin’ ring. Flirted with him a bit, an’ he blushed like a virgin— _I think he might be one, actually.”_

 

“Rebecca!” Rowan shrieked with a scandalous cry. “We’re _librarians_ , we’re not supposed to flirt with our customers.”

 

Lindsay bit down on her cheek, repressing an eyeroll. “Like you wouldn’t flirt with him if you could, Rowan.” The cheeks of the mentioned librarian tinged pink, affirming Lindsay’s words. “A virgin, you say?”

 

Rebecca bobbed her head.

 

“I wonder if Rey is one too,” Rowan chimed in. “She always comes in alone, no sign of a boyfriend, girlfriend, anything.”

 

She knew she had said the wrong words when Lindsay’s head jerked upwards. A light had flickered in her brain, and nothing would be stopping her when Lindsay’s mind was made up.

 

“It must be a _sign_!” she exclaimed. “We have two probable virgins frequenting our library, and you can’t deny that their arguments are _brimming_ with sexual tension. That means we’re _meant_ to try to get them together.”

 

Rowan furrowed her brows, forehead creasing in thought. “Now hold on, we have a full-time job here—”

 

“Oh, yes,” Rebecca interrupted. “I like this. We can be matchmakers.”

 

۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰

 

“I did it,” Lindsay proudly proclaimed, slamming her palm on the bar counter. The cider in her glass tilted from side to side. “I found Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome’s name.”

 

“You did?” Rebecca leaped out of her chair to peer at her colleague’s phone, cautiously ensuring that her wine glass remained safe in her firm grip. “What is it?”

 

“Ben Solo,” Lindsay pronounced. “He’s an artist, under the pseudonym of Kylo Ren.”

 

Rowan placed her hand over her heart. “An artist,” she sighed dreamily, eyelids fluttering. “Could this man be any more perfect? If only I didn’t have a boyfriend already.”

 

“Well, I checked with Rey and she’s definitely single— _unlike us.._ .” Lindsay pursed her lips. “That’s why we need to get them together. Someone needs to snatch up that man _and_ —”

 

“—and he’s already half in love with her. Not sure ‘bout Rey.”

 

“She was _totally_ checking out his ass the other day.”

 

“You’re still on this?” Rowan groaned, playing with the straw in her glass of water. “They’re not two _broken things_ for us to fix or play with. They’re human beings!”

 

“Exactly!” Rebecca exclaimed. “They’re fated to be together—to argue about art wherever and whenever. Hell, they can do it in bed for all I care, s’long as it’s _away_ from our library. We _need_ to help them.”

 

“He has an upcoming exhibit on an abstract take of the Wheel of Emotions,” Lindsay read from her glowing phone screen before glancing up, a sudden smile lighting up her face. “What if we send Rey to his art show?”

 

“That’s not a bad idea,” Rebecca replied, swirling the thick red vintage between two fingers. “But I was thinkin’ something _even more_ grand.” There was a brief pause after the words left her smirking lips, eyes glinting with mischief as the wine tipped back and forth. “What if we send them to Las Vegas? Get ‘em real drunk; so gone they get married, all that sexual tension finally resolved. That _always_ works!"

 

“I… I don’t think that’s quite how it works,” Rowan remarked.

 

Lindsay waved off Rowan’s dismissal. “We can use Rebecca’s idea as a last resort! Plus, I don’t need an excuse to _not_ go to Vegas, we can take a mini-holiday to _observe_ their progress.”

 

“You could just lock them in a study room in the library and play sexual music in the background. It’ll be much cheaper.”

 

Both Rebecca and Lindsay snapped their heads to stare at Rowan, gaping at their colleague’s bold suggestion.

 

“I thought you were adamantly against this!” Lindsay exclaimed. Her lips stretched widely into a smug grin.

 

Rowan didn’t bother to glance at her two fellow workmates and heaved out a heavy sigh, intent on ignoring their glee. “Well, I couldn’t let you two have all the fun, right?” Her fingers toyed with the tiny umbrella that floated in her water, circling it around the glass’s rim. “Plus, _someone_ with a brain needs to make sure you two don't blow things up.”

 

_“Hey!”_

 

۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰

 

“Rey, right?”

 

The college student spun around at hearing her name. “Yes?”

 

“Do you—er—do you have any plans this Saturday?”

 

Rey’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “No,” she drawed out the word with an upward quirk of her brow. “Any reason you’re asking?”

 

Rebecca cleared her throat. “We have an extra ticket to a local art show this Saturday night,” she said with a radiant smile, concealing her internal nervousness. She patted her knee to halt its furious bouncing. “We noticed you hang around the art section a lot, so we wanted to give this ticket to you.” Her young eyes continued to thin into slits. “ _For free._ Of course. Nothing else required but yourself.”

 

She regarded them with caution, warily accepting the ticket from the librarian’s outstretched fingers. “‘A Wheel of Emotions,’ how… nice.”

 

“We think you might find it quite interestin’!” Rebecca proclaimed. “We know you wouldn’t waste the opportunity if you were to go.”

 

“Thank you so much. This is… are you sure I can’t pay—”

 

“No need!” the librarian cut in hastily. “It was, uh, free. For us too.”

 

Rey’s eyebrows drew in close. “Is the library sponsoring this event?”

 

“Erm—no—yes?” Rebecca fumbled for the right words. She turned to her side, mouthing _help me_.

 

“Oh, yes!” Lindsay quickly exclaimed. “From a certain point of view, that is. The exhibit is led by a personal … associate of this library. In fact, all three of us will be there!”

 

“We will?” Rowan questioned. She bit down on her tongue, hard, as the stiletto of Rebecca’s heel sunk into her calf. “I mean, yes. Of _course_ we’ll be there.”

 

“Alright then, I suppose I could go,” Rey replied, though her voice still wavered with slight confusion. “Thank you all, this is extremely generous of you.”

 

Lindsay beamed. “You’re very welcome. See you there!”

 

“See you!”

 

When Rey stepped out of the door, Lindsay threw a fist pump into the air. Her grin bloomed even wider. “Success!” she whispered loudly. “Plan Lindsay is underway.”

 

Rowan huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest, a pout appearing upon her face. “I was planning to spend my Saturday night cuddling with my cat,” she muttered lowly while her co-worker could only shrug.

 

“You can ogle a pretty-eyed artist; in a suit, _maybe—_ doesn’t that sound _divine?_ ”

 

“Oh.” Rowan blinked, scraping through the wondrous images her mind supplied. “Well yeah, in that case… I’m okay with that.”

 

“ _More_ than okay,” Rebecca whispered, a sheen to her mischievous eyes as she gazed off into the distance.

 

۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰

 

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome was, indeed, wearing a suit.

 

And, _God,_ did he look like the finest snack to ever exist.

 

With pristine white walls and tiles, he stood out amongst the small, wandering crowd; a _dark_ thorn amidst the roses _—_ with his tailored suit, a _blessedly_ snug fit to show off his broad, _broad_ frame, as dark as obsidian.

 

“Did you know they serve alcohol here?” Rebecca inquired with clear delight, clutching a wine glass in each hand. “Thanks for making me come tonight, Lindsay. Best decision ever.”

 

Lindsay snorted. “Of course that’s what you notice first, Rebecca. Although, I just might join you—”

 

“Psst, he’s heading toward us!” Rowan whispered. The three women instantly straightened their backs, plastering polite smiles on their faces.

 

Ben headed their way with long, slow strides—one hand raked through his hair, as if he was nervous or shy. His other hand gripped a flute of champagne, which he offered to Lindsay, standing closest to him.

 

“Good, evening ladies. I’d, uh, like to thank you _for_ coming—this, um… well, it’s been experimental, meshing _colour_ with _emotion_ and _uhh_ —” He paused as recognition dawned on him, the flecks of gold in his brown pupils gleaming with confusion. “I… don’t you three work at the Library? The, uh, dungeon one—just west of here?”

 

Rowan released a puff of nervous laughter. “Yep. That’s us.”

 

“Then how…?”

 

“You were telling me about your show last week, remember?” Lindsay spoke rapidly, words tumbling from her nervous tongue _—everything was totally fine._

 

Ben scrunched up his face. “No, no, I don’t _—_ I… don’t really recall ever _mentioning_ —”

 

“You were inquiring about a book on abstract art,” the librarian continued, arms gesturing animatedly, “and you mentioned your exhibit tonight, so we wanted to come support you.”

 

“Are—are you sure—I suppose I must have...” His voice trailed off, his gaze clouding over, drifting to a distance behind them. He shut his eyes and rubbed at his eyelids, a chilling spindle of disbelief tingling down his spine.

 

“Is that—” Ben choked on his words. _“Is that Rey?”_

 

Following his line of sight confirmed that it was indeed Rey, _just as planned_ —though, they had to hide their victory grins. _Not_ that he’d glance their way now; not with Rey capturing every single bit of his attention.

 

And truly, who could blame him? The young woman looked stunning.

 

She stood tall and straight, head snapping to the left as if searching for something _—_ and when she stepped forward, a little hesitant with her sharp heels, the bright studio lights flashed off the sequins present on the torso of her jumpsuit; low-cut and as black as Ben’s suit, the young woman so _often_ dressed in casual clothing or her stained barista uniform had transformed into a star. She shined bright with every moment of motion; illuminated and iridescent.

 

And Ben tracked her  _every_ move.

 

His eyes were everywhere and _yet_ only on her; taking in the waves to her short hair, the curious and shy expression to her hazel eyes, the jumpsuit and the contrasting red belt that kept it exactly in place _—_ his gaze just barely hovered on her exposed chest, featuring the _barest_ hint of cleavage, his face blooming a vibrant shade of red before looking down to his shoes.

 

Oh _yeah._ He was _very_ smitten, indeed.

 

Ben threaded his fingers through his well-combed hair, before smoothing down his blazer with hurried movements. “Do I—” he swallowed thickly, his voice shaking in panic. “Do I look alright?”

 

“You’re _perfect,_ ” Rowan whispered. Her face flushed scarlet when she realized that she had spoken those words aloud. “I mean, you look fabulous. Very professional.”

 

“Yes,” Lindsay echoed. “Extremely polished.”

 

He bobbed his head, relieved, before his eyes moved to Rebecca. Unlike her coworkers, she didn’t give any verbal remark; instead, she stepped forward, closing the space between her and the artist.

 

Her slender fingers grasped the delicate cloth of his bow tie, its dark shade matching his suit. With both hands, Rebecca gently tugged its butterfly wings, her knuckles lightly—and intentionally—grazing the skin of his neck.

 

“There!” She stepped back to admire her work, her lips stretching into a warm grin. “I straightened your tie.”

 

“It was already straight to begin with,” Lindsay hissed into her ear.

 

“Thank you ladies,” he breathed out. Rey was walking closer, a mere five feet away from where the group stood. Short, stuttered breaths escaped Ben’s plush lips, his trembling hand raised to wipe a stray bead of sweat along his hairline.

 

“Breathe. Just breathe,” Lindsay reminded. “You can do it!”

 

His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly. Before she could blink, he grasped the champagne flute still clutched in her hand—untouched—and downed the whole glass.  

 

“G’luck!” Rebecca cheered. “We’ll leave you for now, talk to you later.”

 

The three librarians scurried away to the open bar, to a spot hidden well-enough, but one that still provided an excellent view of the soon-to-meet couple.

 

“Drinks are on me,” Lindsay stated proudly. She bit down on her bottom lip, suppressing a giggle at how well her plan was progressing.

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rebecca’s already on her fourth glass—”

 

“Pish posh,” the Scottish woman waved off the accusation. “Lindsay said she’s payin’, so she’s payin’. No backin’ out.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lindsay mumbled tonelessly, no longer listening to their conversation. Her eyes were stuck on the incoming collision that was Rey and Ben, with a piercing focus sharper than that of a hawk’s. Suddenly, she gasped, arms flapping at the two women beside her. “Rey noticed him! This is _it!_ ”

 

At her sudden announcement, they all huddled in closer; the three women were motionless—every single part of them still, eyes trained onto the _would-be-couple_ (hopefully), leaning in that little bit more with each passing second, every other sense dulling in comparison to sight.

 

And finally, _finally,_ as Ben opened his pretty mouth, lips smacking together slowly—words too far away to hear _or_ make out—they grasped onto each other’s hands, hope connecting at the link; flowing through them, inflating within their chests—

 

“She _scowled.”_

 

“Maybe not. It could be a grin, if you just... _tilt_ your head a bit,” Lindsay countered Rowan’s soft realisation.

 

“That’s a scowl, lads— _not good.”_

 

—only to deflate like a sad, _sad_ balloon.

 

“Oh _no,”_ Lindsay whispered in horror, watching as Rey took a step forward to get right in _Ben Solo’s_ face, words spilling out of her mouth, ever-so-slightly rising on her toes like a lioness crouching on its claws, ready to pounce on its target at any moment.

 

۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰

 

“Solo, what the hell are you doing here?” Rey hissed, her honey-wheat eyes igniting ablaze with flames of fury. She had decided to come to the art show because she had no better plans—quite pitiful for a college undergraduate, honestly, but she just _didn’t_ enjoy drowning herself in loud music and cheap alcohol on Saturday nights—and who was she to turn down a free ticket?

 

But upon seeing _his_ face, tendrils of regret curled within her. She really should have stayed home to rewatch season 3 of Avatar.  

 

Her body reacted quite differently; while her brain screeched with rage and remorse, a tingling shiver—ravenous and delighted—pulsed through her veins at the sight of him. She may or may not have given Ben a… quite _thorough_ inspection when she first noticed him.

 

The man blinked; once, then twice, before his lips parted softly. Still, no words came out. Finally, he straightened his back and cleared his throat. “Rey, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

 

“I wouldn’t go so far to use the word _‘pleasant’_ ,” she retorted. “You didn’t answer—what are you doing here?” She inhaled sharply as an idea flickers beneath her eyelids.  “Oh my gosh, are you _stalking_ me?”

 

 _“What?_ ” His mouth slackened at her stinging accusation. “Of course not! This is _my_ art show.”

 

Cackling laughter erupted from her chest, her shoulders heaving and shaking. “Your—show… _right_ —” Rey wheezed, before her expression faded. “You’re… serious? My ticket said this exhibit was held by Kylo Ren—”

 

“That’s my artist pseudonym.”

 

She could hear his teeth gnash together, jaw clenched and nose pinched. “Oh.” Heat crept up Rey’s neck, as apologetic phrases flash through her mind, none sticking long enough to stream out of her mouth. “All this time, when you said you were an artist, I thought it was just your cover for unemployment.”

 

Ben stared down at her, wide and unblinking. After what seemed like an eternity, he broke his gaze. “No,” he spoke quietly. “I’m not unemployed, though it’s not an uncommon misconception.”

 

“I’m sorry for assuming that of you,” she whispered. Her chest expanded with relief and gratitude that he did not take extreme offense to her misjudgment. She lifted her chin high, her silver nails gleaming under the shine of the studio lights. “It is your art show, after all, care to lead the way?”

 

Twenty feet away, huddled behind a recycling bin, three women giddily clinked their glasses.

 

۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰ ۰• ☆ •۰

 

“So what does it mean? Wheel of Emotions?”

 

Ben stumbled at her sudden question, gaze falling down to meet her curious stare. “I, um… it’s a colour given to, um, a specific set of emotions. For example, green with envy… that’s, uh, just one of the many—”

 

“Red with rage.”

 

He blinked in surprise. “Yes, exactly.”

 

“Or _red_ with lust.” Ben Solo did _not_ just internally whimper as she walked ahead, hazel eyes searching the walls, studying the few pieces with rapt attention—like the _historic_ manuscripts she so desperately fought him for. “Red could stand for a lot of things. Any colour, for that matter.”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he replied absently. How did _she_ become the only thing worthy of viewing in an art gallery—one that featured his own pieces? “It’s, um… purely up to interpretation.”

 

She hummed, suddenly shifting to blind him with a bright grin.

 

_Everything about this girl seemed to glimmer._

 

“You’re really good!”

 

His grip loosened, the empty champagne glass nearly slipping through his fingers. “I’m sorry?”

 

“Your art, it’s… different. Your _whole_ style, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

 

“I mean, I… I try to be unique, but—um—the style is quite common, actually.”

 

“Really?”

 

He could smile— _he could grin_ at her furrowed brow, lips parted in absolute wonder; pink and puffy and oh-so-soft, or so he imagined.

 

“Yeah, there’s a whole range. It’s so powerful for that reason—with each artist comes a new perspective; a new spin on something old.”

 

“Wow.” The soft murmur barely escaped her lips, but he heard it nonetheless. His blood boiled with warmth. “Which piece here is your favorite?”

 

Ben tilted his head to the side, shifting the weight from one foot to another. “Hmm… I would have to say this one in the corner. I’ll show you—” He began to take long strides across the room, weaving between the wandering individuals standing in his path. “It portrays my understanding of emotions using a blend of colors, the final culmination—”

 

His body froze, mind drawing to a blank, when one particular drawing nudged into the corner of his eye.

 

A drawing featuring a specific… _someone_.

 

A _someone_ who was standing next to him at the moment.

 

“Actually, never mind, let’s just go back, there’s too many people here—”

 

“No, hold on!” she exclaimed, eyes glimmering with excitement. Rey hopped forward, tugging his limp arm forward. “You can’t just hype up a painting and then _not_ show me it—”

 

Her words broke off, tersely and suddenly, jaw stiffening as her gaze followed his.

 

“Ben,” she uttered quietly. Fear pulsed through his veins, freezing his heart in icy terror, as he awaited her next words with bated breath. “What… is that?”

 

His hopes splintered, millions of shards raining down. Was there time for him to run? Anywhere for him to hide? That recycling bin in the corner looked like a good spot...

 

“Uh—um… It’s—”

 

“That’s _me_!” she hissed. “You… you made an art piece based on… _me?”_

 

He grinned weakly. “Well, technically, it could be any woman really—”

 

“It’s titled ‘Gold: A Rey of Sunshine’.”

 

Ben winced. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

 

“When did you draw that?” She rose up on her feet, glaring at him with withering intensity. “Tell me the truth. Say it.”

 

“A few days ago.” He swallowed. “After that argument we had about… vintage neon signs art.” He sighed, gaze drifting down to follow the pattern of the floor tiles. “You looked so peaceful reading, sitting under the rays of sunlight, so I couldn’t… not sketch you. And then I added colors to turn it into what it is currently.”

 

Her eyes were wide and round and _unwavering_ as she stared up at him, a gloss of wonder with her lips slightly parted. _“Why?”_

 

“I don’t know, I just—I _felt_ like it.”

 

“You mean you _felt_ like rubbing it in, right? When you’re constantly putting me down, _always proving me wrong,_ you drew _your_ victory of _my_ defeat. Because that’s what it is to you, no?” He could only blink quickly, stumbling back while his mouth opened and closed, over and over—desperate to tell her the plain, hard truth of her allure only to fall flat and struggle to find the right words. “What am I to you? What do you get out of me? Does it improve your self-worth? Do you feel better about yourself when you can correct me on everything, be it art or grammar or, _god forbid,_ the wrong pronunciation?”

 

“Rey, I don’t— _I’m not_ — _”_

 

_“What am I to you?!”_

 

“Nothing. You’re nothing—absolutely _nothing_ to me. I don’t enjoy your company _nor_ do I enjoy correcting you, I just _feel_ the need to point out when you’re wrong because, as a student, it’s your _duty_ to know the subject your studying. Which you clearly don’t.” The words came rushing out in a single wave, coming to break and wash over her harsh, drawn-up features, steadily relaxing them into an expression of hurt. “You should—you’re wasting your money on that major.” He swallowed thickly, shame coiling within his chest alongside his racing heart. His cheeks felt all hot and clammy, mind clouded and light. “So yeah… that’s that.” One last huff fell from his chest, gaze suddenly unable to meet her own forcing his sight down on the hand wrapped around his glass.

 

He waited for the inevitable. The shouting, the cursing, the _dousing_ of champagne.

 

It never came.

 

Only a scoff. “You must be so _alone_ to utter words like that aloud to another person.”

 

The truth had never hit so hard, echoed in the way her heels clacked against the tile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dalzo: welp, this happened. Idk what to say, maybe just apologise lmao. You know, for making y’all some thirsty ass reylhoes but… let’s be honest, that’s pretty well on-brand for the server. Nah, but FORREAL, I love all three of you so, so much - for your quality fics, amazing writing, the support you continuously show to everyone on the server and all the work you put into the Den. Truly, couldn’t have anyone better to be my headmissy’s. Thank you so much for these amazingggg 6 months (can’t believe I was pretty much there from the beginning, that’s INSANE) and another huge thank you to Catey for her amazing writing and ideas that made co-writing this a BLAST. Also, Rebecca, I hope you enjoy all the wine I’ve promised in this fic—one day I’ll be in Scotland topping up your glass for realz <3 
> 
> Reylocalligraphy: This fic is the peak of my writing career, being able to collaborate with one of the most talented authors in this fandom. I can’t even count the number of times my mind was blown by how beautiful Ruby's writing is while working on this chapter. Also, I tried my best to get OPS sneak peeks about The Wheel of Emotions… ;) (I’d like to say if that you take offense to anything, blame it on her; I absolutely did not do anything of that sort. Definitely did not place two wine glasses in someone’s hands. _Ahem_ ) Rowan, Lindsay, and Rebecca, thank you three lovely souls for everything you have done for TWD <3 The months since I’ve joined have created some of the happiest days of my life, and I definitely wouldn’t be here writing fic without y’all. _(P.S. Peep the name of the library in the moodboard ^_^)_
> 
> Come find us on Tumblr ([@reylocalligraphy](https://reylocalligraphy.tumblr.com) and [@reyloner](http://reyloner.tumblr.com))! Please subscribe if you would like to continue reading. Comments and Kudos are worth a hundred bow tie-wearing Adam Driver’s.


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